Aristocracy
by MushuofPudding
Summary: Years after their time at Ouran, Haruhi and Tamaki are enjoying their life together... But in life in high-society, happiness doesn't last forever. You should read it-- lots of drama, and sex, and more drama


Everything I have to say about disclaimers is on my profile.

Rated M for sexual content, mature subjects, and adult language.

All you need to know about the backstory at this point:  
All of our beloved Host Club is grown, and around 10 years out of high school.

.

.

Aristocracy

.

Haruhi's eyes fluttered open; she was cold again. She scowled at the sleeping form of her idiot husband, who was wrapped like a burrito in both the sheet and the blanket that should have been enough for both of them. This was one of those times when she was not glad that he was home, instead of on another business trip. That was a perfectly awful thing for a wife to think, and she mentally admonished herself for it. He looked so peaceful and contented, her husband burrito. That would be over soon, as her fingers curled around the closest sides of blanket and sheet. Violently, the husband burrito was unraveled. If the bed had been any smaller, he would have been sent flying clear off it.

Having been awakened so unceremoniously, he was quite bewildered as to the reason. He sat on his knees, blinking at her with his sad puppy eyes when he saw her scowl. Fortunately for Haruhi, she was too tired and annoyed for this to have any effect on her. She rolled over with her newly claimed sheets with a huff.  
"You stole all the sheets again," she stated coldly, her back still turned.

Tamaki reacted to this as Tamaki frequently reacts to negativity from his wife:  
"My darling wife!! You hate me!! I'm so sorry I made you cold!! Please don't hate me!" he wailed. Then he cuddled up next to her, spooning her, and added, "I love you."

With all his wailing, she was about to kill him with a pillow, but after that, she could not bring herself to stay so mad at him. She sighed.  
"I love you too." She leaned into his embrace and sighed contentedly. "Now go to sleep."

He held her closer. She smelled good. Her skin was soft. He inhaled deeply, taking in the smell of her hair, and rested his hand on her hip. His thumb stroked slowly, enjoying the smoothness, while his fingers tucked themselves under the line of her panties to enjoy more of it. Then his fingers began massaging, then pulling her hips closer to his. Then his hips-- and groin-- began responding to this new-found pressure.

Haruhi, from the moment Tamaki put his hand on her hip, knew exactly where this was going. She mentally sighed. She would rather have been cold. It was not that she did not enjoy making love to her husband, just that she was tired, and would rather be asleep. Another internal sigh. She could not deny him, though. After all, he was going to be off on another trip again in a day or so. A third sigh. She might as well let him have his fun, and try to enjoy it herself.

She voluntarily pushed her hips back, grinding her backside against his groin. He groaned lustfully, and squeezed her hip. He licked down the edge of her ear and fondled the lobe with his tongue. His hot breath tickled down her neck, and his kisses soon followed. His hand had migrated from her hip to her breast and had begun massaging it, alternating between teasing the nipple and gripping it whole. An involuntary shudder of pleasure rolled through Haruhi, and a small moan escaped her lips. Knowing that his efforts were effective turned him on further, so that he was now straining to stand at full attention, while still confined to his boxer-briefs. He began kissing along her jawline while rolling her underneath him, his lips eventually making their way to hers. She moaned again, when his still-clothed and quickly-becoming-painful erection pressed between her legs. Yes, the underwear definitely needed to go now. He broke their kiss to remove the offending garments, namely all of them. Then he began working on hers, first went the nightgown over her head.

His actions were becoming increasingly fervid, and she obliged him with all of them, simply enjoying the sensation of his hands on her body. He began sucking one of her nipples, rolling it gently between his teeth and tongue. She arched her back high enough to press her stomach flush against his chest, and she gasped when his manhood pressed between her legs again, sliding along her satin panties.

Those satin panties were the last shred between his penis and it's goal. He trailed kisses and licks down her stomach, while he slid the final hindrance down her hips. His mouth continued down her thigh and her calf, all the way to her ankle, and all the way back up. She could not help the shivers and twitches and moans that escaped her as his mouth moved over her body. When his mouth had found its way back to hers, he kissed her passionately, sliding his tongue into her mouth to greet hers. Her tongue responded with the same dance and play that had become so comfortable and familiar, almost routine.

While this thought was occurring to her, Haruhi gasped in spite of herself when Tamaki slid into her. She moaned when he started in the slow rhythm that he most identified as "making love". She gasped and cried out and called his name as his pace increased. She ran her hands up his arms and her nails over his shoulders. He started to loose his rhythm and Haruhi knew he would be done soon. She pondered to herself when this become so routine-- for lack of a better word-- to her. Tamaki stiffened with his release, and Haruhi was taken from her thoughts. She looked up at her husband. He really was a remarkably beautiful man. The edges of her mouth turned up ever-so-slightly into what must have seemed to Tamaki to be a loving smile from his adoring wife because the smile he returned to her reflected that sentiment.

"I love you so much," he said gently kissing her forehead before unsheathing himself from her and rolling to her side.

"I love you too," she replied automatically.

When Haruhi looked at Tamaki, at how contented he looked, she realized that she did not even know whether she had orgasmed because she had not really been paying attention. She supposed that it did not really matter anyway, since she had not really wanted to have sex in the first place. Then she began to consider how much of the sound she had been making was more to please her husband than a true reflection of pleasure. Could she have been faking it and not even realized it? Was that possible? Could love-making have become so monotonous that she could simply recite the sounds and make the moves without having to think about or feel any of it? This train of thought began to disturb Haruhi more than she liked, so she made a conscious effort to push it all out of her mind and return to sleep.

***

Elsewhere, that same night, there was a crowded bar full of obnoxious men and sleazy women. Kyoya Ootori was slumming it. His high-class friends, and his high-class family, and his high-class wife had given him a colossal, high-class migraine. It was time for a low-class drink and a low-class lay for some very effective stress relief. He looked like a clocked-out salary-man, unwinding from a long day. In a white dress shirt with the top two buttons undone, black slacks, and contacts instead of glasses, not even his best friend of almost fifteen years would recognize him. That was the goal: in for a drink, out with a woman, and home before his wife could bitch about it, and with as little scandal as possible.

He was sitting at the bar, nursing his drink and people-watching, when a woman took the stool next to him. She was wearing too much eyeliner, not enough fabric, and smelled like liquor. This was what he was waiting for.

"The quiet type, huh?" She took a final sip of her drink, something fruity and red. "I like that," she added, trying-- and failing-- to be seductive.

Kyoya had been looking for easy, and boy, did he find it. She was all over him and he had yet to say a word to her. It reminded him a little of his time at Ouran University. He smiled his host smile at her. She blushed, completely under his spell. That charm really did prove convenient quite frequently.

"Can I buy you a drink?" he asked with a mind-and-body-melting smoothness that could rival a number one host. She could quite possibly have wanted to jump his bones right there on the bar stool, but she simply accepted his offer with a giggle and a come-hither smile. He ordered her an apple-tini, knowing that it would only take one more drink to send her flying into his bed. ...Well, not _his_ bed, but into a bed with him, anyway.

She babbled at him endlessly while she sipped her martini. He did little to participate in the so-called conversation, but she did not seem to mind at all. He had caught the essentials: her name (Tracy, Teresa, or something like that)-- and that was about it; nothing else was all that essential (even the importance of her name was questionable). He would smile and nod occasionally, just to keep her interested, but he was starting to get impatient. He was started to need a cigarette.

When she had finally finished her drink, Kyoya's nimble fingers plucked the maraschino cherry from the bottom of the glass.

"Hey!" Tracy/Teresa protested. She reached an unsteady hand out to try to recover her cherry (though Kyoya supposed that such a thing had been lost to antiquity). She stilled when he ran his hand along her jaw and gently commanded,  
"Here, open," offering her the cherry. Then he lowered the cherry onto her waiting tongue, and plucked the stem from her lips to keep for himself. When he was sure she was watching, he put the stem in his mouth, and appeared to be sucking on it. Less than thirty seconds later, he took a tied stem out of his mouth and showed it to her. Her eyes were wide with amazement. Kyoya smirked.

"I have to go out for some fresh air. Care to join me?" he asked, standing from the stool. His question had seemed simple enough on the outside, but his tone had asked a completely different question. And that was the question that Tracy/Teresa answered with an airy,  
"Yeah."

The two left the bar together, Kyoya having to slightly steer his new companion. The moment he was out the door, he got a Marlboro Black menthol from the pack in his shirt pocket and lit up. He took a moment to savor the flavor and the aroma before continuing along with his "date". He needed that to be able to stand the bluestreak she was talking about Japanese men and how great Kyoya was. They had traveled about a block before coming upon a love motel. He paused in his pace and glanced over at her.

"Would you like to rest here for the night?" he asked, another duplicitous question.

"Sure," she swooned. He paid for the whole night and led her up to the room.

Upon entering, he immediately began to strip. As much as he would have preferred to avoid the intimacy of nudity and just fuck her with his clothes on, he could not have his clothes smelling like sex. The shirt, the pants, and even his boxers found a temporary home for themselves on a nearby chair. Tracy/Teresa had taken the cue and stripped herself as well, though that was less necessary.

There was very little foreplay, which was fine because there was very little need for it; she had been hot an bothered for him for at least an hour. He protected himself with a condom from his wallet, and plunged into her. She gasped, gripping the sheets. She could not call out his name because she did not know it. A series of "Oh"s and "Ah"s seemed to suffice, though.

He flipped her over and quickened his tempo. She screamed into the pillow beneath her. He gripped her hips and pounded her harder. For Kyoya, there was something intoxicating about fucking the brains out of some random slut whose name he could not even bother to remember. It was something dirty and feral, and not allowed in high-society. He could be out to pleasure himself and not have to care at all about the other person. And it was a brand of pleasure that neither his wife, nor his hand could provide. He shuddered with his release.

He paused to regain himself before pulling out of her and removing the condom. He announced that he was going to shower and left the room. When he emerged again from the bathroom, the bar skank was fast asleep, sprawled out on the bed. Kyoya looked at her with disdain, and proceeded to get dressed. He left her there without so much as a note.

.

* * *

Note from the author:  
I proofread this myself, so if you find any obvious errors on my part, please let me know. I hope you enjoyed it. I'll add more to the story when I know what happens next-- well, I know what happens eventually, but I don't know yet how to get there. If you have any thoughts on the matter-- praise, hatred, ideas-- leave it in a review. I only recently discovered how much fun it is to get reviews, so more would be welcomed and appreciated. ;-p


End file.
